Bloodshot Eyes
by Toni42
Summary: His luck was rotten. Just pure, utterly rotten. On top of a constantly burning scar, nightmares and visions filled with locked doors, there's also the fact that his uncle seems to be planning out his murder and he has to sneak off to the hospital once a week. And that he has to keep all of it a secret from his friends, godfather and just about everyone else. Just his rotten luck.
1. A Shack

**Summery:**

 **His luck was rotten. Just pure, utterly rotten. On top of a constantly burning scar, nightmares and visions filled with locked doors, there's also the fact that his uncle seems to be planning out his murder and he has to sneak off to the hospital once a week. And that he has to keep all of it a secret from his friends, godfather and just about everyone else.**

 **Yup. Just his rotten luck.**

 _ **Sick!Harry, Abusive!Dursley's, Protective!Sirius &Remus, Canon Pairings**_

* * *

Chapter One:

A Shack

* * *

It was only four days into the summer holidays. And things had already gone to hell.

His back ached and his body was littered with bruise's. His limbs were sore as his muscle's groaned in protest of every movement he made. He wanted nothing more than to be back in Gryffindor Tower, lying in his soft four-poster bed, with Ron and Hermione never that far.

But Harry Potter's luck was rotten.

Rain fell from the dark sky, thunder booming in the distance, and trailed down the glass windows of the car. The window wipers went back and forth on the front window every two seconds, clearing it so his Uncle Vernon could see through it properly.

Harry didn't know where they were going, and his heart was steadily pounding against his bruised chest. His hands were clasped together in his lap. He'd long stopped trying to ask his Uncle where they were going, as he would give him a deadly stare and tell him to shut his mouth every time he said a word.

The teenager glanced at his watch again. It was 11:43. They'd been driving for two hours now. It was only him and Uncle Vernon as well. So they weren't going on a vacation and he was being forced to go. Aunt Petunia and Dudley would have been here as well.

They'd left the highway about half an hour ago, and where now driving on a bumpy, unused dirt road through a thick forest. Branch's snatched and clawed at the car and thunder continued to boom in the distance. Harry had had a horrible feeling in his gut from the very moment Uncle Vernon had dragged him by the hair into the car. It had only increased as time slowly ticked by, and the fact it was storming and they were in the middle of the woods did not help. Maybe it wasn't _Voldemort_ who would be his downfall...

Ten minutes later, Uncle Vernon pulled up outside an abandoned shack. It's windows were boarded and the grass was overgrown, besides a small pebbly path leading up to the front door, which was covered in various claw marks. The wooden walls were covered in ivy and in one spot near the ground there was some sort of dark stain.

Uncle Vernon pulled his hood over his head and climbed out of the car, slamming his door shut. Harry didn't want to get out, his heart was hammering against his rib cage, sweat beaded his forehead and his hands felt clammy. When he didn't get out, Vernon growled in frustration and opened Harry's door, grabbing his arm and dragging him out into the rain.

Harry, who hadn't brought a jacket (let alone had time to grab one), was immediately drenched, his hair plastering to his forehead and raindrops splattering onto his glasses. Uncle Vernon proceeded to drag him towards the shack, not caring that he was shivering and in nothing but a baggy t-shirt, jeans and peeling trainers.

Uncle Vernon knocked on the door. There was a bit of shuffling from inside and the sounds of a key turning a lock, before the door opened an inch and a man wearing a ski mask peeked through the small gap between the door. "Who is it?" his voice was deep and he was clearly doing it on purpose, cold grey eyes looking Vernon and Harry up and down.

"The guy who wants his money." Uncle Vernon said. His grip on Harry's arm tightened.

The man in the ski mask looked behind him for a moment, before returning his eyes to Vernon. He gave a small nod and opened the door fully, allowing them entry.

Harry felt his heat jump into his throat, as the door closed behind him with a _snap!_ He heard the key being forced into the keyhole and the small sound of the door locking.

A fire burned in the fireplace against the far wall. An rickety, empty bookshelf stood in the corner, a rat nibbling on a crumb on the top shelf. The floor was dirty and in the middle of the room was a wooden table with four leather straps stapled onto it.

Another man, also wearing a black ski mask, sat on a stool in front of the fire. He looked up from where he had been sharpening a wood cutters axe with a wet stone.

"Do you have my money?" Vernon asked. He was obviously trying to look tough, but Harry could see the slight fear in his eyes and the tiny beads of sweat on his forehead.

The second man nodded to the first man, who threw walked up to Uncle Vernon and handed him a stack of notes held together by a rubber band. Vernon snatched the money out of the mans hand and quickly counted it. Satisfied, he nodded, pocketing the money.

The first man held out a hand and, much to Harry's horror, Uncle Vernon handed _him_ over to the crook. Harry struggled, trying to pull away, but Uncle Vernon's fat hand slapped him across the cheek.

"Just make sure you don't kill him." Vernon growled. "I'll be back for him in the morning."

Harry's breathing was quickening, his heart hammering, as he watched helplessly as Uncle Vernon walked out the door, which was being held open by the second man, who slammed it shut behind him.

The two crooks grinned at him. The second one was still holding the wood cutters axe. He was suddenly regretting leaving his wand in his room.

Harry punched, clawed, bit and kicked, as the two crooks wrestled him onto the wooden table, strapping down his arms and legs. His left arm, Harry dully noted, was stretched out across the table, his hand hanging off the edge, while his right arm was pinned to his side.

The crooks whispered to each other quietly, ignoring Harry's fruitless attempts at a struggle. He hadn't eaten since the Hogwarts end of term feast, and his body had already been aching because of his Uncle's beatings. So Harry knew, no matter how much he struggled, that he would not be getting off this table before some painful changes happened.

The crooks finished speaking and walked over to the table, looming over Harry's struggling form. The first man took out a black marker and drew a single line between Harry's t-shirt sleeve and his elbow. The second man raised his axe, it's sharp steel glinting in the fire light. Thunder roared and lightning flashed outside, the wind howled against the wooden shack, the fire flickered and created dancing shadows along the walls.

The second crook brought his axe down, right on the line that his friend had drawn on the wizards arm.

Harry's screams could not be heard outside the shack over the roaring wind.

* * *

When Harry came to, all he could register was blinding hot _agony._

He made a sort of chocking sound, tears stinging behind his closed eyelids. He swallowed thickly, forcing his eyes open. Everything just _hurt._

Taking deep breaths, Harry was able to look down at his chest, blinking dumbly, trying to find out why he was in so much pain.

His white shirt and baggy jeans were covered in dried, crimson blood. He was in his room, back at Privet Drive. Uncle Vernon must have come back for him.

All thought fled from his mind as his eyes landed on where the pain was mostly coming from. There, were there had been a long, skinny arm, was now a simply a stump, wrapped messily in bandages.

His mind froze in shock. He couldn't move. He couldn't think. His green eyes widened and his mouth opened slightly. His breathing was coming out in quick, short pants, as if he was about to have a panic attack. He barely noticed that his scar was burning.

He fainted.

* * *

The Dursleys left Harry alone in his room after the event in the shack. Aunt Petunia brought up his meals, which were surprisingly not just bits of cheese and bread but an actual _meal_ , and did all the chores herself. She would even change his bandages and make sure it didn't get infected, even giving him some medicine when it caused him to get ill. Uncle Vernon ignored him completely, not even coming up to shout or beat him.

Two weeks later Harry had enough strength to stand without shaking, even to walk around his room and down the stairs. It had, thankfully, been his left arm that he'd lost and not his writing- and wand- hand.

The Dursleys wouldn't let him out of the house, probably so he wouldn't draw any of the neighbors attention. What would they say, if they realized that he was missing an arm?

Harry sighed, rolling onto his side in his bed, ignoring the itchy pain that was his new stump. What would his friends say? What about Dumbledore and Mrs. Weasley? And, dear god, _what about_ _Sirius and Remus?_ Sirius would go and murder the Dursleys and he'd be thrown right back into Azkaban!

Harry took a few deep, soothing breaths, trying to calm his panicking heart. Okay, it was obvious he couldn't hide that fact he was missing an arm. But how was he supposed to break it to them? If he did it by letter, they'd be here in a matter of moments and he was pretty sure the Dursley's would be killed before he could even blink. And what was it that they kept saying in their letters? That they had to hold back information encase it was intercepted? What if Death Eaters found out and used it against him?

That was another thing. It was obvious he was at the very top of Voldemort's 'People to Murder' list. How was he supposed to fight off Death Eaters- let alone Voldemort- with only one arm?

And then it hit him.

Harry scrambled to his feet, a little unsteady, and over to his desk. He grabbed a piece of parchment and a quill, unscrewing some ink and dipping the sharp tip into the black liquid.

Sitting down in his chair, Harry began to roughly sketch the image in his head. He remembered, before he went to Hogwarts, the Dursleys had forced him to get a job when he was six. He'd been a mechanic's assistant for three years, before the mechanic moved to Germany. He'd picked up a few tricks and maybe, just maybe, he wasn't to rusty.

* * *

After two days of sketching and planning, Harry broke the stick off of the old broom in the closest (his Aunt had just bought a new one and had been planning on throwing it out), got a glove, stuffed it with a bit of newspaper and was able to attach the stick to his stump with a bed sheet, the glove acting as his hand. It was uncomfortable and stiff, and he had to wear his jacket and another glove on his real hand, which wasn't really that nice considering the hot weather, but it would have to do for now.

Harry walked through town, wearing his old baseball cap to hide his hair and scar (never knew when wizards were around), a list of all the things he needed and a couple of his sketch's stuffed in his pocket, making his way to the dump.

He spent the whole day there, rummaging through the trash in search for parts and knobs, slowly building his new creation. He'd gotten to the dump at half-eleven and didn't head back to Privet Drive when the sun began to set. He kept working, soon taking out a torch to light his way, not even thinking of leaving when his watch beeped midnight.

It was a painfully slow progress, what with him only having one arm and a torch between his teeth, but finally, as the sun began to rise on the horizon, his eyes itchy with tiredness, his back groaning and his limbs aching, it was finished.

He picked it up, making his way out of the dump and across the street to where the restrooms were. Closing and locking the stall door behind him, Harry gently laid the object down on the floor and pulled off his 'broom-arm' with a hard tug. Taking off his jacket and glove and hanging them on the hook on the door, Harry sat down on the toilet seat and picked up the object.

It was an arm, with only four fingers and leather straps to keep it in place. It wouldn't be like an actual arm that he could move around and pick things up with, but it was something.

Sighing, Harry slowly pulled his t-shirt over his head, revealing his bare chest. You could count almost every rib and his torso, thighs and stomach were covered in healing bruise's. Harry, with much difficulty, was able to strap the fake arm in place, the leather straps going around his torso to help keep it up. He moved his stump a little, satisfied when the arm gave a little jerk. He made to put his t-shirt back on, when he felt an odd tingling in his stomach.

He frowned, looking down, but only seeing his pale skin. The tingling spread up to his chest and over to his stump and right into the fake arm.

The arm jerked and twitched and, right before Harry's shocked eyes, the arm gave one final jerk, before going from grey, hard metal to looking and feeling like soft, flesh and blood. Harry blinked, his mouth open in shock. He moved the arm, up and down, and you could just barely hear the sound of gears working. It was just like a real arm.

Realization dawned.

His magic. His magic had reached out and made it look, feel and be used like an actual arm. Harry smiled, letting out a small, relieved, tearful laugh. Maybe he didn't have to tell anyone.

Harry wiped his eyes, letting out a small hiccup. The shock of losing his arm was finally wearing off. He just couldn't believe it. Sure, the Dursley's hated and beat him, but never in a million years had he thought that they would even _consider_ chopping off and selling one of his arms.

Once he had his shirt and jacket back on, the gloves stuffed in his pocket and the stick, bed sheet and newspaper in the trash, Harry looked left and right, wondering if he should grab a bite to eat before heading back to the Dursleys.

Making up his mind as his stomach gave a low rumble, Harry began walking to the cafe he'd spotted a couple blocks away, pulling out his bag of muggle money from his pocket.

* * *

 **Next chapter: Harry meets a doctor and finds some strange bruise's on his real arm.**


	2. The Hospital

**_Previously on Bloodshot Eyes_**

 _Making up his mind as his stomach gave a low rumble, Harry began walking to the cafe he'd spotted a couple blocks away, pulling out his bag of muggle money from his pocket._

* * *

Chapter Two:

The Hospital

* * *

The cafe was crowded at this time in the morning.

Men and women that were stopping by for a quick breakfast before going to work passed by Harry without a second glance. Harry sat at a table in the corner, sipping at a cup of much needed coffee and munching on a turkey sandwich.

"Excuse me."

Harry looked up from his coffee to see a young man, probably in his mid-twenties, with blond hair and light blue eyes. In his hands he held his own coffee and a marmalade pastie.

"Mind if I sit here?" he asked, smiling kindly at Harry, who hesitantly smiled back.

"Not at all."

The man sat across from him, setting his coffee on the table. He took out his phone (he's not a Death Eater then) and began scrolling through it. Harry took another bite of his sandwich.

After a couple minutes the man chuckled, pocketing his phone. "My name's Sam Thump, by the way." He held up his hand, which Harry shook. "I'm a doctor at Surrey's Hospital."

"M'name's Harry." Harry mumbled.

They descended into silence, the only sound being them sipping at their drinks and munching on their foods.

"How old are you, Harry?" Dr. Thump asked, looking the boy up and down with curious eyes.

"Fifteen."

"Really? Your a bit small to be fifteen." Dr. Thump said thoughtfully, not noticing Harry's blush of embarrassment. "Anyway, I'm looking for some help in the office. I'd pay you ten pounds an hour, if your interested."

Harry thought for a moment, cocking his head to the side. Sure, he didn't really need the money, not at all, but accepting would get him away from the Dursleys and maybe if he was exhausted enough, he'd be too tired to have nightmares.

Harry mentally shuddered.

Nightmares. Horrible, twisted nightmares filled with blood and gore. The sight of his fellow student falling to the ground in a flash of green light, dead before he even began to fall, just like his parents and so many unnamed others...

Harry shook those thoughts away, turning back to Dr. Thump. "Sure, I'd be glad to."

Dr. Thump smiled. "Brilliant! Here's the address. You can start tomorrow at eight. See you then, Harry."

Harry took the piece of paper Dr. Thump handed him, as he stood from the table, finishing his pastie, and walked out of the cafe, climbing into his car. Harry looked at the address.

He'd never been to the hospital before, as the Dursleys neglected to get his health checked and for him to get his shots. Harry wondered if it mattered if a wizard got his shots or not...

Shaking his head, he got to his feet, downing the last of his coffee, and made his way into the streets, beginning to walk to the bus stop so he could get back to Privet Drive.

* * *

When he got back, Harry made a bee line for his room. He didn't want the Dursleys to see his new arm. Who knew what they would do to him?

Harry woke up early the next day, at four am. He made his way downstairs, beginning his daily chores. When his stump had healed enough, the Dursley's quickly began assigning him chores, although not as much as last time. But Harry was sure that, by next summer, he would be back in his daily routine.

After cleaning the entire ground floor it was half six, so Harry began making breakfast and set the table. The smell of sizzling bacon must have woke up Dudley and Uncle Vernon, because Harry heard shuffling upstairs and the sound of squeaking floorboards.

Swallowing, Harry put down the last plate, grabbed his one slice of bacon and quickly made his way out the door, closing it shut behind him, just as he heard the squeak of the first step.

He jogged down the street, not daring to look back encase the Dursleys were there, waiting to shout at him for running off before weeding the garden.

Harry took the bus into town and walked four blocks to the hospital. Checking the address Dr. Thump had given him, Harry made his way into the hospital.

* * *

Working with Dr. Thump turned out to actually be a good idea.

Harry's job was to sort out his office and files, which he did with no complaint. Dr. Thump seemed shocked but pleased when he came back from a check-up to find his office completely spotless. It was, in his words, "Even cleaner then when he first got it."

It was on his third day of work that things began going down hill.

They'd just gotten back from lunch, and Harry had crouched down in the corner to return to sorting a bunch of box's. Dr. Thump had returned to his desk, going through one of his patients files. He'd been giving Harry strange looks in the elevator on the way back and it made Harry feel uncomfortable. Had there been some food on his face?

"Harry."

Harry looked up from the box's to see Dr. Thump walking towards him, a small frown on his face. "Stand up."

Frowning, the boy complied, looking up at the blond man, who said, "Roll up your sleeves."

More confused than ever, Harry rolled up the sleeves of his long-sleeved shirt, his eyebrows shooting into his hairline as he realized what was on his real arm.

While his fake arm looked like pink, healthy flesh, his right arm was covered in purple bruise's. He was sure they hadn't been there last night and his Uncle had stopped beating as much, barely leaving a bruise. There was also the fact Harry was really around anymore to _get_ beaten.

"How'd you get these bruise's?" Dr. Thump asked, putting on his glasses and examining Harry's arm.

"I- I don't know!" Harry said, confused beyond belief. "They weren't there last night and I certainly haven't hit it of anything!"

"Alright, calm down." Dr. Thump said soothingly. He pressed his index finger against one of the bruise's. "Does that hurt?"

Harry shook his head.

Frown deepening, Dr. Thump straightened and walked over to his desk. He grabbed a pen and paper and quickly scribbled something onto it, before handing it to Harry. "You should probably get those checked tomorrow. Give the nurse this note. You've got the day off for tomorrow."

Swallowing, his mouth suddenly dry, Harry nodded and returned to work.

* * *

When Harry arrived on the fourth floor the next day, he slowly made his way to the nurse at the desk. Crying children sat with their parents, while some others played with the toys scattered around or sat quietly in their parents lap.

The nurse looked up from where she'd been painting her nails bright red, raising an eyebrow at him. Harry silently handed her the note.

The nurse sat down the nail polish, taking the note, careful not to mess up her newly painted nails. After reading it, she looked at Harry and gave him a clipboard. "Sign your name and take a seat. Dr. Grain will see you momentarily."

After scribbling his name and the date on the line, Harry sat down, looking around the waiting room. Cartoon animals were all over the walls and there were a few drawings by small children taped to the wall behind the nurse's desk.

Harry began wringing his hands, unwilling to pick up one of the magazines sitting next to him. Harry swallowed nervously, eyeing the door.

After what seemed like ages, a nurse came to the door and called out his name. Harry, flattening his fringe nervously, darted past her. The older women shut the door and walked quietly, not even glancing at him. He followed her into an empty examination room, where she left him to wait for the doctor.

Harry shifted from foot to foot, continuing to wring his hands together. This was the very first time he'd been to the doctors. Until four days ago, he'd never even been outside a hospital or a clinic. He felt flushed and sweaty, his clothes sticking uncomfortably to his skin, as he stared at the ticking clock intently.

At last the door creaked open and a man wearing a white coat with dark hair and grey eyes walking in, a clipboard tucked under his arm. He smiled as his eyes landed on Harry. "Ah, you must be Harry."

Harry tried to smile back, but he was sure it looked more like a grimace. He hesitantly spoke, "My employer, Dr. Thump, told me to come and get an exam."

Dr. Grain raised an eyebrow. "Is that so? Well, let's have a look, shall we? Step on this scale." He indicated to the aforementioned object that sat innocently against the wall. Harry swallowed.

Harry stepped onto the black scale and Dr. Grain adjusted the metal weights that were suspended on a metal rod. The man frowned and wrote something on his chart. "Now stand against the wall."

Harry did so, and Dr. Grain marked down his height. "Have a seat on the bed." Grain put on his stethoscope and nodded to Harry's chest. "Shirt off, please."

The teen hesitated, before slowly pulling it over his head. Dr. Grain's eyebrows rose to his hairline when he saw the fading bruise's on Harry's chest and his clearly seen ribs. Then there were the bruise's on his right arm. Harry blushed, looking down at his lap in shame. He was very thankful when the doctor continued his exam.

"Well, your breathing and heart seems to be normal." Grain said, writing on his clipboard. "Let's take your temperature and blood pressure."

Only moment later, Harry had a digital thermometer under his tongue and a tight cloth around his arm. The thermometer was being held up by his left hand, while his right arm (he'd made sure Grain didn't try to do it to his left arm. That would have been awkward.) was squeezed until he couldn't feel it. Finally it was released and the cloth relaxed; Dr. Grain was carefully listening through his stethoscope at Harry's elbow.

The man grunted, removing the stethoscope and the blood pressure cuff. The thermometer in Harry's mouth beeped and Grain took that too. He frowned when he saw the reading and wrote on his clipboard.

He turned to Harry. "Your blood pressure is low, but still in normal range. Your temperature, on the other hand, is slightly elevated."

Dr. Grain stepped forward and gently place his hands against Harry's neck, startling the boy greatly. "I'm checking your glands to see if they are swollen." he explained when he saw Harry's startled look. After a moment, he stepped back. "There is some swelling there. Did you fall ill recently? Sneezing, sore throat or coughing? Have you been feeling tired?"

"I was ill for about a day last week." Harry admitted. "And I haven't been sleeping well."

Grain nodded, writing that down. "And those bruise's. Where did you get them?"

"These one's I got because me and my cousin where playing a bit rough." Harry said, lying through his teeth as he gestured to the bruise's on his chest and stomach. "But as for these, I don't know. I hadn't even noticed them until Dr. Thump pointed them out yesterday. They weren't there the night before."

Grain pressed one of the bruise's with his thumb. "Do they hurt?"

"No, sir."

The doctor hummed and wrote on his chart. He looked up at Harry. "I'm going to have to draw some blood and check it out." he said, setting the clipboard aside. "Have you eaten today?" At Harry's nod, Dr. Grain pulled out a long needle with a plastic piece attached to it and two vials. He also had a long rubber piece, a cotton swab and a brown bottle.

Harry swallowed thickly, watching as Dr. Grain wrapped the rubber around his (thankfully real) arm. The cotton swab was dipped into the bottle and then the doctor wiped the crook of Harry's elbow with it.

Harry looked away just before Dr. Grain stuck the needle in his arm. It stung painfully and he felt a tug as Grain worked around his arm. The rubber was pulled off and soon Grain had filled the vials and removed the needle. He had Harry put a cotton swab on the wound and close his elbow.

Before too long, Harry had a bandage around his arm and the vials were stored away. He felt his sore muscles relax a little more and let out a deep breath.

"Go to the laboratory on the third floor to get your results in two days." Dr. Grain ordered. "And unless you have anything else to bring up, that's it."

Harry smiled weakly and shook his head. "Thank you, Dr. Grain." He shook the mans hand.

"No trouble." Dr. Grain said with a wave of his hand. "You take care now!"

Harry smiled at him and nodded, before walking out the door, down the hall and into the waiting room. He trudged to the lift and pressed the button to call for it.

* * *

The lift chimed as Harry walked out, wearing his cap to hide his wild hair and lightning scar. He'd discovered, last night, that he had to take off his fake arm before he went to sleep or else it could break. When he had woken to see one of the metal plate's bent and out of place, he'd panicked. His magic had stopped making it look and feel like a real arm and Harry had desperately bent the metal back into place. As soon as it was fixed, his magic reached out again and put the 'illusion', as he had taken to calling it, back on.

He walked to the receptions desk, shoulders tense and hands wringing together nervously. "Miss?" he said quietly, to get the nurse's attention. "I'm here on a recommendation from Dr. Grain."

The nurse looked up at him. Her nails, Harry noted, where bright pink this time. "Yes, and who are you seeing?"

Hesitantly, he handed her a slip of Muggle paper. "Er... Dr. Thump."

* * *

 **Next time: Harry learns a new word- and it's not a good one.**


	3. NOT AN UPDATE (BUT VERY IMPORTANT!)

Hey, sorry but this is not an update. As you can probably guess, I've been having a bit of trouble sticking to one story. So, to solve this problem, I have turned to my viewers (that's you).

I will list bellow six of the stories that I will work on. This will also be a bit of fun for you guys too. You can write a short story about the story you want me to focus on (you all have my permission!) or to draw something about the story you want me to focus on and post it on DeviantART. You can work in teams or alone. The one I like the most will be the one I work on!

If you want to participate in this, then PM me with the title "(Story You Want) Short Story (or) ART"

You have until today (Sunday, 20th September, 11:00 am) to tomorrow at midnight (Monday, 21st September, 12:00 pm). Stories must be posted on Tuesday (22nd) or Wednesday (23rd). I will announce what story won on Thursday (24th).

You must PM me again when you are finished with your short story/drawing and tell me the title so I can look at it.

* * *

 ** _STORIES_**

 _Watching the Big Four Movie 3 (Rise of the Brave Tangled Dragons crossover)_

 _Hiccup and the School of Dragons (How to Train Your Dragon)_

 _The Dragonborn Comes (How to Train Your Dragon)_

 _Quartet of Misfits (Harry Potter)_

 _Bloodshot-Eyes (Harry Potter)_

 _Dark Gold (Harry Potter)_

* * *

 **TIPS AND RULES**

Having trouble with your short story? Why not write a scene that has already happened from another characters perspective or maybe about something that has already happened but was not described in much detail.

Having trouble with your drawing? Why not draw a scene that has already happened or perhaps even make a comic about a scene? Or perhaps you can just draw a 'Family Portrait' with all of the characters together?

Short stories have no word or chapter limit, but it cannot become a full out story. Drawings can not be sexual (same with short stories) or inappropriate for young readers. Swearing is allowed, but please keep it to a minimum. If there is more than two swear words I will have to ask you to either rewrite/redraw it or be disqualified.

Any fighting between the writers/drawers will cause said fighters to be disqualified.

You do NOT have to be a certain age to participate and you don't have to be a member of the G.M.A.D., but members too are allowed to write/draw as well.


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